Page 84 of Bargaining with the Devil

“Ah, I do enjoy hearing you beg.”

“I’ll do anything.”

“Like you did for my brother, no doubt. But no, I have other entertainment in mind. If you manage to free yourself and escape the flames, I shall be waiting outside. With this.”

A pistol. He slowly pointed it at her, and she flinched.

“I’ve never particularly enjoyed hunting,” he said conversationally, as though confiding in a friend. “But my mind could change.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Should they evade the men, undoubtedly Blackmore will seek out his wife and child. Your lover will come looking for you, I’m sure, but he won’t know I’m waiting. I may bag two prey items today.”

Tears welled. Her throat, already clogged with smoke, constricted. Because Quinn would come for her. And Nathaniel wouldn’t be far behind once he knew Issy and Rachel were safe.

She hadn’t told Maman and Da that she loved them before the last time she saw them. When was the last time that she’d said it aloud to Issy? She’d never told Nathaniel just how much he meant to her. And she hadn’t told Quinn . . . The tears spilled over.

Lymington’s smile sharpened. “Enough talking. Time grows short. This wretched cottage will soon catch entirely.”

She wrenched at the bindings, but it was no use. They were too tight. It would take a knife to get free. If Quinn reached her in time, if Lymington didn’t intercept him, he’d have knives on him.

Quinn’s knife. He put one in my hand, here by the table.

She’d dropped it. Had he ever retrieved it? If he hadn’t— A gust of smoke curled in, heavy, and she coughed.

If it was still there, if Lymington hadn’t found it while binding her, if she could reach it . . . She coughed again, folding at the waist, lungs no longer drawing enough clean air. I might have one chance, one tiny chance.

She bent farther, still coughing, lightheaded from fear and too little oxygen. On the pretext of fumbling with her bindings, she groped beneath the table. Her fingers brushed a loose object.

The knife! I mustn’t accidentally push it away.

She managed to nudge it closer, to wrap trembling fingers around the handle. Now she mustn’t drop it, although her lungs burned and every limb had gone shaky. She straightened as much as she could.

She could just make out through the haze that Lymington had reached the cottage door.

“Your brother—” She had to stop, coughing. “Compton hated you. He—” She coughed again. “He said that you—” Her lungs burned; it was hard to force words out. “You were worthless. That you—” She coughed again. “That you should never—never have been born. That you—weren’t good enough to—” A coughing fit rendered more words impossible.

She’d failed.

No, Lymington had taken a step back towards her.

“Shut up, girl.” He had a sleeve over his mouth and nose, blocking the smoke.

She couldn’t do that; she needed her hands free. Just one more step. “Pathetic. He said you were⁠—”

Quinn’s words ran through her mind: ’Tis easy enough to quickly nick the spot where the blood rushes fastest. ’Tis messy, sure. But cut it deep enough, and it takes no time at all.

Lymington took one last step, his fist curled like he meant to strike her.

The crackling flames in the roof were strengthening to a low roar. No time left. No time for second-guessing. There was little visibility left, smoke thickly hazing the room, but she whipped the knife up and slashed as hard as she could across his neck at an angle under his jaw.

Hot blood splattered her face and chest, and Lymington’s whole body jerked. He staggered back a step, or perhaps it was only that he fell, crumpling from the knees and listing onto the cottage floor.

The knife fell from her nerveless fingers. Her vision was dimming, the rushing in her ears louder than the flames. She didn’t know where the knife had ended up. It didn’t matter.

She’d protected those she loved.

Chapter 24